


Patron Saint Priestess of All The Lost Girls Who Got Found (1977-91)

by thebittermountain



Series: Wicked Girls [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Florian Fortescue, Dorea Potter is Harry's (Rani) Great-Grandmother, F/F, F/M, Female Harry Potter, French-Vietnamese Sirius Black, Gen, German Neville Longbottom, Harry Potter was Raised by Other(s), Harry is Lord Potter, Harry was raised by Dorea, Indian Character(s), Indian Harry Potter, Indian James Potter, Irish Severus Snape, Irish-Welsh Remus Lupin, Lily Evans Potter & Severus Snape Friendship, Lots of nobles (sorry), M/M, Manipulative Albus Dumbledore, Marlene McKinnon & Sirius Black Friendship, Multi, Original Character(s), Outclassed by Dorea Black Poddar, Regulus Black Lives, Scottish Marlene McKinnon, Scottish-Welsh Lily Evans, Sirius Black is Lord Black, Sort Of, Well duh, Which is kind of, Wizarding Culture (Harry Potter), Wizarding Nobility, very big canon divergence, well Baron Black, why is that not a tag?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-17
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2020-01-15 06:50:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18493633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebittermountain/pseuds/thebittermountain
Summary: Indian Potters (or Poddars) are influential and powerful in their own country, and James is more critical of Dumbledore. Instead of being taken by the Dursleys, Harry (or Rani) is raised by her paternal great-grandmother (Dorea) and great-aunt. Frankly, everyone has a lot more common sense and critical thinking ability in this universe, and even though some people still die, not everyone does. Very much not canon.





	1. And Where The Roads Are Meant To Go, I've Forgotten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lily, James, their family, and friends, make plans of their own, not entrusting them to Dumbledore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Roads, by Vasant Abaji Dahake, Translated by Ranjit Hoskote

_25 October 1977, Poddar Manor—somewhere south of London_

Amita and Akshay Poddar share awkward looks with each other as their daughter-in-law and son’s voices echo loudly against the high walls of the manor.

“Lily, can’t you understand I want you safe? It’s getting more and more dangerous, and I can’t bear the thought of you dying because you were in the wrong place at the wrong time!” The couple and their other guests, Sirius Black and Marlene McKinnon, jump as a smashing sound is heard in the parlor that the younger couple are having their spat in.

Sirius and Amita lock eyes, both having similar grimaces on their faces.

“She has a temper so much like a Black sometimes I wonder if we’re related,” Sirius says with a bit of wry humor. His adoptive mother chuckles, then whispers,

“I hope she broke that ugly decorative vessel my _Aai_ insisted on me bringing with my trousseau. I’ve been waiting for it to be destroyed for years.” Mother and son share a laugh before the sharp sound of Lily’s voice brings their reluctant attention back to the highly audible fight.

“James Homam Poddar! You bloody imbecile! Don’t you think I worry about you dying too? And Remus, and Peter, and Sirius, and Marlene, and Edgar, and Severus, just to name a few?” There’s a muffled sound from James before Lily starts up again. “Don’t you even try! We both know I’m the better one with wands and potions. I can hold my own just as well as you can with wandless spells, and you know it. Besides, all of you will, and have needed me to patch you up after fights.” There’s a short, tense pause. “If you’re so worried about me knowing enough to protect myself, I can always ask Andy or Gideon and Fabian.”

Abruptly the door to the parlor slams completely shut, making Amita drop her cup of lassi. Thankfully for the elaborately patterned rug under her feet, her husband catches it with a quickly muttered spell before the yoghurt-based drink can splatter everywhere. A muffled discussion carries on in the parlor, but the listeners hear no more of it.

Despite their embarrassment at hearing the fight, all four of them are extremely curious as to what caused the fight. Though Lily has a hot and vicious temper, and James has an extremely stubborn nature, the couple rarely had such furious fights. The only times they can remember after James and Lily began going out have been over Severus Snape’s apparent status as a double agent, and Lily’s trust for Dumbledore (at the time).

The door opens slowly, completely opposite to how it was shut. James peeks his head out, face scrunched sheepishly.

“How much of that did you hear?” His family members all give him unamused stares. He rubs the back of his neck and opens the door wider to let Lily through. Her eyes are spitting green sparks, and her bright red hair is standing out from her head where it isn’t pulled into a tight braid. Everyone in the room automatically tenses. When Lily is so angry that she’s giving off magic, they all know they should be worried.

“What’s goin’ on Lil?” Marlene asks finally, tucking a strand of curly brown hair behind her head. Instead of answering, Lily shakes her head, blowing out a long breath before walking out into the garden. Giving a Sirius a quick glance and a squeeze on the shoulder, Marlene follows her, one hand on her swelling belly.

“James. What is going on?” Amita demands. Not asks. No, that’s too gentle of a term for all the steel in her voice. He blows out a breath, then takes a free chair between his mother and oath-brother. Leaning forward, he runs a hand through his shaggy mane of black hair before speaking.

“It’s Dumbledore. The white wizarding wonder has another plan, and none of us like where it’s going. But he’s the head of the Order, not to mention of the Wizengamot. There’s no way we can feasibly challenge him. Not when we don’t have a seat there. Sure, we could pressure him in the ICW, but he has too much on too many members.” Akshay blows out a heated breath as Sirius clenches his hand on the stuffed arm of his chair so hard that his knuckles are white.

“That bloody _chutiye_. What new idiocy in the name of the greater good has he come up with now?” James sighs.

“ _Baabaa_ , I think you’re being a little too kind. But most of us who graduated in the last three years were getting suspicious of how little he was doing to prevent outright war, though he was certainly quick to form a secret vigilante group.” He pauses, his shoulders drooping slightly. Both Amita and Sirius reach out to rest a comforting hand on said shoulders. He gives them both a small smile before continuing. “Granted, he hasn’t told us much, but I know both Snape and Black are feeling more than a bit caught right now. He’s fallen through on multiple promises to them. And he’s been treating both Lily and I, and Alice and Frank more than a bit strangely. He’s heard something. Something that he thinks we need to have a part in.” He takes a shaky breath. His voice has that same shakiness when he says, “And so has You-Know-Who. He’s been going after the most visible women in the Order. Lily. Alice. Marlene. Lady Bones. Annabel. But only the ones who have graduated in the last three years. Neither Andromeda or Molly have mentioned feeling especially threatened.” He drops his face into his hands, shoulders shaking. “I’m so terrified. Both for Lils and Marlie especially.” Amita rubs his back, sharing a heavy look with Akshay.

“But not Lily?” James makes a choked-off sound that is possibly a hysterical laugh.

“No. No, Lils is furious. She wants to end both You-Know-Who and Dumbledore for putting all of us in this mess.” A collective sigh permeates the room. Shortly after, Marlene and Lily return, both frowning, though Lily is no longer so visibly pissed.

“Alright. The two o’ us have a plan. All o’ ye shuid listen,” Marlene says, her hazel eyes dark.

_21 December 1979, the Order Headquarters—English-Scottish Border_

Marlene McKinnon bends down to reassure her two-year-old, Magda Lorelei, while her partner Sirius attempts to stop the baby, Hanne Weland, from crying. But it’s no use. The environment is so tense even the children can taste it.

Not only have both of Jamie’s parents died recently from a freak case of dragon pox, but the Order is steadily losing ground and safe houses. Marlene’s family home, currently the Order headquarters, is the one of the few left. No one has good news, and yet Dumbledore had called them all together to set each other off.

Marlene is so furious she could set the so-called Leader of the Light on fire. Sure, she couldn’t afford to say no to the head of the Order, but she is highly skeptical that Dumbledore doesn’t know how much danger he is putting everyone in by getting all the leaders of the Order of the Phoenix together in one place. Even the spell of the _gleidhidh dìomhair dìleas_ , that the English called the _Fidelius_ , won’t keep them all safe, not with so many people from all over Britain. There are too many chances for mistakes to happen. Marlene trusts her wards—they’re old and cast and recast in _Gàidhlig_ every thirty years. But even powerful wards can be weakened with enough traitors.

She sighs, rubbing her eyes. Sirius puts a hand on her shoulder as she picks up Lorelei, squeezing gently.

“I know, Leni. I know,” he says, the interesting lilt that his trilingual childhood gave him heavy in his voice, and as many bags under his eyes as hers. She leans back against him, careful not to squash the baby, and looks up into his silvery eyes.

“I love you, _caraid anam_ ,” she says softly. He manages a slight smile and wraps his free arm around her. Both of them jump when the door to their private living room slams open. They must have forgotten to lock it, Marlene thinks irritably as she turns to see who has bothered them. Most of the other parents are enjoying the rare opportunity to get some space from their children and have left them to the care of the McKinnon elves in the playroom, though Marlene and Sirius had offered the living room as a place for the older ones to nap.

Her irritation fades away, replaced with concern as she sees the looks on James and Lily’s faces.

“Lil, what’s wrong?” Lily blows out a long breath. James’ grimace merely intensifies. He is still the one who manages to get words out first, unsurprisingly. He glances at the slight swell of Lily’s belly.

“Dumbledore has a plan,” he says flatly. Lily’s grip tightens on his hand, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

“He’s making Severus tell You-Know-Who a prophecy he heard,” she hisses, her eyes beginning to spark. Sirius and Marlene share a look.

“What’s so bad about it?” they ask at the same time. Lily growls.

“Dumbledore refuses to tell us specifics, but he’s insisting that both James and I, and Alice and Frank go into hiding because of it. He thinks he’ll lure You-Know-Who out and into defeat.” Marlene feels a heavy lump in her throat and feels Sirius’s arm tighten around her. She pushes past her unease and frees herself from her best friend’s grasp to shut the door and casts a quick _falaich bho luchd-èisteachd_ spell before turning back to all of them, Lorelei dozing on her hip despite the interruptions.

“He kenned somethin’ afore this. Maybe not th’ prophecy, bit he knew You-Know-Who would need a target. He was baitin’ him wi’ us,” she says, her voice furious but low. Her friends nod.

“He had to,” Lily says, a hand on her belly, her other in one of James’. “Everyone except Annabel has reported feeling less targeted. She, Alice, and I are the only ones pregnant right now.” Marlene tucks her wand back into its holster and lays Lorelei down on a sofa before clenching her fists.

“Lily. What else is there.” It’s not a question. Lily isn’t just furious, she’s terrified. Marlene can tell from the way her friend is shaking. Lily pulls two crumpled letters, both with a familiar knotted crest out from the folds of her now habitual _saree_. Marlene takes one of them. Sirius takes the other, the one with Vietnamese letters under it. She urges everyone to sit down before opening hers.

_My first friend,_

_By now, you have probably heard that our favorite bumblebee has a plan to sting the serpent that he saw through a crystal ball. And you probably also know that he intends for me to provide that sting. The problem is that you could be hurt as well. Though I still don’t care much for your stag, or your two justice warriors of friends, I wish none of you, and none of your children dead. We do not yet know which family this applies to, as none of your children’s genders are yet known, but we cannot discount the Poes, the Police Officers, or yours, my friend. Your Virgin Mother’s child is barely out of the running. I do not intend to tell the serpent until I have a better idea, so not until summer. Rest assured, I will beg for your lives. I am not too proud or too fond of my own life to prevent others, especially children, from dying. I doubt we will see each other again in this life, so this is my goodbye to you. Tell your stag, and his pet dog that I finally, reluctantly forgive them, though they shouldn’t expect me to be particularly fond of any of them, particularly not their furry little problem._

_I love you,_

_Your loyal Slytherin._

Underneath it is the prophecy itself. Marlene finds herself blinking rather rapidly. She looks up at Lily. Her friend’s bright green eyes were suspiciously shiny.

“Lily…” she trails off, not sure what to say. She had never been a huge fan of Severus…never had much faith in him despite Lily vouching for his loyalty. But this, this was beyond brave.

“I know!” Lily says, falsely bright. “It’s so free of sarcasm!” Marlene politely ignores the tears streaking down her friend’s face, instead leaning on Sirius’s shoulder to read Regulus’s letter.

_Dear Tinh Cẩu,_

_Don’t worry. I know that’s futile to say, just as it’s futile for you to tell me not to worry. I want you to know that I will never hate you. For most of my life you have been my role model, even if I was a bit more toned down than you. Please don’t fly off the handle after my next words. Our favorite deadly serpent has found a way not to die. And it’s not related to Flamel. It’s…well, it’s very European. He has made a_ Bẫy cho một linh hồn _. And I don’t think it’s the only one. But I have made it my mission, with my favorite adder, to destroy the one I found. If I don’t see you again, please remember me fondly._

_Love,_

_Xà Vương_

James clears his throat, drawing everyone’s attention to him. He runs a hand through his perpetually messy hair, his other in Lily’s.

“We need a plan. We can’t let Dumbledore control where any of our children go. And Padfoot—you can’t be involved in anything except the planning. We need you safe and able to protect them.” Sirius opens his mouth, eyes sparking a little, then shuts it when Marlene nudges him. He knows James has a point. He is reckless. Always has been. One of the unpleasant familial inclinations, which wasn’t helped by Dumbledore not even attempting to curb his arrogance. At least he still has his rationality intact. He nods, then says roughly,

“Countess Longbottom or Mr. Fortescue could take Frank and Alice’s.” Lily grimaces.

“Lady Augusta is…overbearing, to say the least. I’m surprised Frank has so much of a backbone, to be honest. I think Florian would be a better choice, even if he’d probably spoil his grandchild a bit.” Marlene nods. Snuggling closer against Sirius, she says,

“Edgar’s older sister, Lady Bones, is an Auror. She would be a good choice.” Lily tucks a stray strand of hair back behind her ear and leans forward.

“I agree. James and I will talk to them about changing their wills. And making sure the goblins officiate them.” She hesitates, glancing over at James, who kisses the top of her head. She closes her eyes, taking a deep breath. “If, if we die, we want both of you to take care of Poddar interests in England. But…” She blinks, and elbows James lightly. His eyes are shiny, but his voice is a bit steadier than his wife’s.

“But after this war, the Poddars are done in England. We are moving the head of the family back to Maharashtra. If we die, we want you to ensure that _Aaji_ and _Maavshi_ Kalyani get guardianship.”

“Under no circumstances are Petunia and Dursley to get ahold of our child!” Lily bites out. Marlene’s eyes widen.

“You don’t think….?”

“I do.” Lily says firmly, her eyes flashing, but luckily not sparking. Sirius and Marlene share a long look, then turn back to their friends.

“We’ll swear an oath.”

“Are you serious?” James asks flatly. Sirius smirks, and James groans lightly before getting out his wand. After the oaths are sworn, Sirius asks,

“So, if you don’t want me involved, who are you going to ask if Dumbledore wants you to do something?”

“We would ask Remus…” Lily says regretfully.

“But the werewolf laws,” Sirius finishes.

“So, Peter then?”

“Yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not well-versed in any languages but French and English, so if people have more accurate corrections, just let me know in the comments. Also, the Poddars are speaking Marathi, not Hindi.


	2. In My Flesh-Marrow-Skin the Black Birds Flash/Their Emerald Wings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Voldemort comes to Godric Hollow, but Lily and James have plans that will leave Rani protected both from those who would kill her or use her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from My Burning Chest, by Vasant Abaji Dahake, Translated by Ranjit Hoskote

_31 October 1981, Godric’s Hollow—West County, England_

One-year-old Niketa Rani Kamala Poddar is giggling as her mother animates stuffed animals for her amusement. Her father, James Poddar watches them both fondly when he glances up from making dinner, a light vegetarian curry with pumpkin and potatoes in it, rice boiling on the side. But despite their clear delight in their daughter, neither Lily nor James look quite as young as they did even two years ago. Lily has a scar upon her cheek and white streaks in her bright red hair, while James has deep furrows crossing his forehead and a few wrinkles around his mouth. Neither of them are even twenty-five yet, but they both look like they could be much older. A branch, blown by the quickly picking up wind, knocks loudly against the living room window of the cottage the small family is hidden in. Both Lily and James jump, and the animals fall to the floor, much to Niketa’s dismay. Lily chuckles nervously, running her hand through her daughter’s hair, which is already as messy as her father’s despite how little there is yet.

“ _Aai_ was just scared, love. The wind is spooky tonight. Can you play with your toys while I get something from upstairs?” Niketa stares up at her mother’s face for a few long moments then nods firmly, pulling her favorite stuffed snake to her and making hissing sounds at it. Lily gets to her feet with a sigh, bracing herself on the nearby chair. As she smoothes out the dark blue skirt of her _saree_ , she thinks, not for the first time, that she is far too young to have so many aches in her bones. James clears his throat, and she looks over at him curiously.

“Are you sure, Lils?” he asks softly.

“I could just be paranoid, but I’ve had a bad feeling all day. I’d rather be safe than sorry.” He nods as he ladles out the curry into a serving dish. When Lily comes back down, she has a frayed, multicolored friendship bracelet that she ties around Niketa’s chubby little wrist. Her daughter looks up at her with wide eyes.

“Keta, darling. I-I…if _Aai_ and _Baabaa_ are gone, you hold this tight and pull, okay?” Niketa’s face crumples, and her eyes, the same bright color as her mother’s, get shiny. She starts hyperventilating.

“No gone! No! _Aai_ , _Baabaa_ stay!” she wails. Lily chokes slightly on her breath, her eyes stinging. She picks her daughter up and rocks back and forth with her as Niketa hides her face in Lily’s neck.

“I don’t want to leave you, baby. _Baabaa_ and I love you. We will always love you, whatever happens. But we need you to be safe. Please, please just do as I say, Keta-love.” Lily doesn’t think her daughter quite understands everything she is saying, but the words seem to calm her down, and she nods against Lily’s neck, snuffling slightly. Lily pulls her away, so she can see her little, sweet face.

“You will pull it?” she asks, softly but firmly. Niketa makes a face, but nods. Lily manages a small smile. “Good.”

James takes that pause to announce that dinner is served. Niketa cheers, her upset seemingly forgotten. Lily gets her into the baby chair with minimal fuss. When Niketa is absorbed in attempting to fit a chunk of potato bigger than her eyes into her mouth, James casts _Kāna virud'dha śānta_. Lily raises a brow.

“Jamie, what was that for?” He gives her a tired glare.

“Lils, did you need to scare her like that?” She huffs a breath out through her nose.

“If nothing happens, she’ll forget it, Jamie. But if this isn’t just my nerves, I want her to remember what to do.” He reaches across the table to grasp both of her hands tightly.

“Alright. Did you set up the ward on her crib?” She nods.

“I’ll power it up completely when I put her to bed.” He blows out a long, shaky breath.

“Lils, do you really think it’ll work? It’s highly illegal for a reason. In some ways it’s almost as horrifying as a soul trap.” She flips the way their hands are intertwined and squeezes gently.

“I—yes. The last time I brought it up to check it, it was humming with Marlie’s magical signature.” James gapes at her.

“It. What.” She chews at her bottom lip but refuses to drop her eyes from his.

“She agreed, remember. And I built so many safeguards and restrictions into it that only willing sacrifice imbues it with energy. I checked and double checked it. And…after it gets used, it shouldn’t be able to absorb any other energy.” James looks down, clearly trying to control his breathing.

“Fine. I’m still not happy with this option, for the record.” She rubs her thumbs in a circle on his hands.

“I know. But it’s the best one we have. We know we can’t ask Dumbledore.”

“I know.” James ends his spell just as Niketa finishes her dinner, looks up from the tray, and yawns.

“Alright, time for bed little miss Keta,” Lily says brightly. Niketa pouts in James’ direction, and he chuckles despite his heavy thoughts.

“Nice try, Prongslet. But there’s no way I’m going against your mother. I know better.” Niketa sighs for an impressively long time, and James and Lily both giggle. Lily wipes her small daughter’s face clean of curry, then hoists her on her hip, bending down to give James a kiss. When she surfaces, she taps him on the shoulder, saying,

“Maybe we can listen to the public radio after I get her settled? I think I heard they were playing some new international dance music when I went grocery-shopping earlier this week.” James grins up at her, kissing her belly softly.

“That sounds nice. Maybe we can make this one a big sister too.”

“James Poddar!” Lily just about squeals, smacking the back of his head gently. He laughs at her mock-scandalized expression and watches her as she disappears up the stairs.

He’s almost finished washing the dishes—his mother would be shocked to see him doing something so manual—when the door is blasted open. He curses fluently in Marathi as he realizes two things: he left his wand on the kitchen table, which is in the direct line of site of the front door, and Peter betrayed them. He closes his eyes and wills his Patronus into being. To his relief, he opens his eyes to a graceful, translucent lioness.

“Padfoot. We’ve been betrayed. Don’t go after the rat. You have two little ones to take care of. Make sure Susan and Neville are safe. Aaji will contact you when Niki is too.” He hesitates and decides to add one last thing. “I love you, brother of mine. Stay safe and stay pranking.” Then he races out to delay Voldemort.

He almost manages to get his wand before the Dark Lord sees him. The inhumanly pale man’s reddened eyes narrow, and James, not for the first time, wonders what the bloodline-obsessed followers of this…man see in such an unhealthy-looking individual. He grabs his wand and yells their prearranged phrase,

“Lily! He’s here! Take Niki and run!” He hears a muffled sob from upstairs, and thrusts aside the ache in his heart. He races to block Voldemort from the stairs. Even a few moments meant something. “So, how did you get Wormtail to tell you where we were, you bastard?” Voldemort laughs, and the sound is high, thin and just plain wrong.

James shivers, not having any trouble believing Regulus Black’s word that this white terrorist, who has stained the reputation of Parselmouths and Slytherins both, has ripped his soul into pieces.

“James Potter. You are indeed the reckless and rude individual that I have heard young Severus and Regulus complain about so many times. Nonetheless, I suppose I will fulfill your last request.” He pauses, and James clenches his wand tighter, his heart racing.

“So?” He says, raising a brow, and managing to imbue his voice with some of the old arrogance that has long been knocked out of him. Voldemort frowns.

“How dare you demand anything of me, you worthless blood traitor!” James can’t resist snorting at the man’s arrogance.

“Really, Voldemort? You’re the one who has denied any family name, and I have no doubt that my family and lineage is older than yours.” The Dark Lord’s eyes widen, and his teeth pull back. James doubts anyone has had the bravery to confront the man like that before. The atmosphere seems to somehow grow even tenser, and for James, everything seems to slow down. He gets his wand up, but not in time to prevent the green flash of light from hitting him right in the chest. He falls, and his last thought is of his wife and daughter, hoping against hope that they will both live. That the plans they made are enough to save Lily too.

Lily bites her lip, hard, as she hears a muted thud after Jamie’s last words. But there is no time for tears. She puts a wide-eyed Keta into her crib and brings up the last of the ward imbued into it. The formerly grey-blue, crackling light is now tinged with orange. Lily takes a deep breath and kneels down in front of her daughter’s bed.

“Niketa, I want you to listen to me. _Aai_ and _Baabaa_ love you. But we have to go away for a while. So, your _Aaji_ Dorea will take care of you. You need to pull that bracelet when I’m gone, okay?” Niketa sniffles, made nervous by both the words she understands and the tone of her mother’s voice. But she nods.

As Lily stands, she hears footsteps on the stairs. She stiffens and moves directly in front of her daughter. To her fury, beyond raising a single brow, Voldemort seems bored. He twirls his wand idly, saying,

“Stand aside, you silly girl, and your life will be spared.” She glares at him, repressing a shiver at his unnaturally high voice. She’d never been able to get over the sheer wrongness of his presence no matter how many times she had seen him on a battlefield.

“Not a chance, you pale, lying bastard,” she says flatly, letting the full glory of her Cokeworth accent through. Her heart twinges as she remembers how reverting to her childhood accent used to make her friends and husband fall over laughing, and how she’d then begged Marlie to revert to her Scottish one. They’ll never be able to kindly mock each other for their highly varying accents again. Voldemort sighs gently, the sound entirely incongruous.

“Very well. I hate to disappoint one of my most loyal followers, but you’ve left me no choice.” Lily takes one more last deep breath, firms her stance, unnecessarily brushing down her _saree_ , and glances back at Niketa, who’s staring at her with wide eyes. “ _Aai_ will always love you, Keta-love. Never forget that.” Then she turns back to Voldemort, raising her wand.

“ _llosgi tân y ddraig_!” Bright fire, heating her face uncomfortably hot, roars into existence, licking at Voldemort’s robes, but unfortunately not causing him any other difficulties. Lily curses viciously. She may be willing to sacrifice herself for her daughter, but not without a fight. She’s thinking up another spell and has almost raised her wand when the Dark Lord completely douses his flaming robe and lifts his own wand. The ominous, and all too familiar green light shoots out before Lily can speak.

As she falls, to her bittersweet satisfaction, she hears an explosion and hears a wand clatter to the floor before everything fades abruptly to black. The explosion caused by Voldemort’s death after failing to check what spells, charms, and other magical defenses Lily Poddar had on her person proves too much for the wood of the cradle to handle, and the ward, now blue-gray, orange, and a cool yellow, collapses onto Niketa. She cries briefly when the ward, to center itself, burns three small shapes into her hand, but she’s too shocked and overwhelmed to react further.

She pulls herself shakily to her feet, and looks over at her mother, who is sprawled, eyes open, lips upturned, in front of where Niketa’s crib used to be. She calls out, her lip wobbling when neither her father or mother respond.

She sits down with a plop, eyes shiny, and looks down. The bracelet catches her eye, and she brightens slightly as she pulls it. With a popping sound, Niketa Rani Kamala Poddar, now the infant _Peshwa_ Poddar, disappeared from Magical Britain for the next ten years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry.  
> Peshwa = "First Minister" in Marathi; it's a title from the Maratha Empire. The Peshwa was the ruler's foremost advisor, and later usurped most of the power for themselves.  
> Aai = Mom, mother in Marathi  
> Baabaa = dad, father in Marathi  
> Aaji = grandmother, in Marathi
> 
> As for the other instances of non-English in this chapter, James is casting a spell against eavesdroppers (similar to Muffilato), while Lily's casting a fire-spell that is supposed to be as hot as a dragon's fire. She is speaking Welsh.


	3. They're All Prisoners of Hope, Shoulders Sagging in the Present

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the fallout of the end of the first British Wizarding War occurs, and we learn what's going on with other important characters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Bogeyman by Vasant Abaji Dahake, translated by Ranjit Hoskote

_31 October 1981, Black Manor—the Brecon Beacons, Wales_

Sirius Nguyên Black, who has recently, and somewhat reluctantly, claimed the traditional Black Barony of Brecon Beacons, almost drops his two-year-old, Hanne, when Prongs’ lioness Patronus appears in front of him. His heart in his throat, he staggers and sits down on the floor. Once the Patronus has delivered its message and disappeared, his eyes are stinging. But he can’t cry in front of Hanne. He refuses to scare them like that. He takes a shaky breath and pushes himself up on the side of an intricately carved wooden chair, not even noticing the edges digging into his skin.

“Dilly!” He calls. One of the Black elves appears in front of him. Unlike his mother’s elves with whom he grew up with, the ones living at the Manor have clothes and are paid in metals from which they make jewelry. It’s one of the few things he appreciates about his larger family. Dilly bows slightly to him, and says,

“What is it, Lord Black?” He hands Hanne, who has dosed off, gently to her.

“Put them to bed, and check on Lady Lorelei please. And tell one of the others to ramp up the wards so only people accompanied by elves or myself can enter.” Dilly nods sharply before popping out again.

 

_3 November 1981, The Ministry of Magic, DMLE—London, England_

Lady Amelia Judith Bones, an Auror in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, jumps several feet in the air and lets out a highly undignified scream that makes her glad she’d shut the door of her office behind her. The man sprawled in her chair with two babies in his arms smirks at her.

“Good day, Bones,” her old school classmate says as he stands up. Distantly, Amelia notes that his eyes are reddened as if from too many tears and that he has far too many stress lines for a magician of twenty-one.

“Baron Black,” she says, her voice far from its usual sharpness. He frowns at her, shifting her niece, her niece, in his arms.

“Bones. I fail to understand why you stand on ceremony. I arrived here to deliver your niece and locate an Auror who will receive my statement of innocence.” Amelia, though she will firmly deny it later, gapes at him. Sirius hasn’t sounded so formal since fifth year. She finally gets ahold of herself and holds her arms out.

“Do give me my heir, Black. And inform me of what happened to my brother and his wife, as well as the Longbottom heir’s parents.” Sirius does as she demands, gently laying Susie in her arms. Amelia cradles her, eyes stinging, and raises an imperious brow. He clears his throat, adjusting the infant Heir Longbottom in his arms.

“Bones…you know Edgar and Annabel were part of the Order?” When she nods brusquely, he adds, “I assume that you remember they changed their will to ensure everything, including guardianship of Susan, went to you?” Her throat catches, but he takes her silence as assent. Before he can continue, she asks hoarsely,

“How did they die, Black? Tell me the truth, don’t sugarcoat it.” He sighs.

“It’s far from pretty. I anonymously tipped the Aurors. But I got there just as a few Death Eaters Apparated away. Sounded like Nott and Macnair. Edgar and Annabel had hidden Susan in what looked like it used to be a priest’s hole.” He hesitates. “I only knew it was them because I saw Edgar’s long green coat and Annabel had her cross necklace clenched in her hand.” Amelia takes a steadying breath at the images coming to mind from what he’s leaving out. To her mortification, she can’t prevent some tears from spilling out. She looks away from Black and says, with great effort to retain an even tone,

“How did you know this was going to ha—wait, don’t answer that, let me get out my Veritaserum.” To her considerable surprise and consternation, he says,

“Ahead of you, Bones.” He tosses a familiar vial over to her, which she barely manages to get her hand out in time to catch. Sometimes, she is more than a little concerned about Sirius going through training but not becoming an Auror. He has way too many unnerving skills for an unemployed noble. She sighs, and calls,

“Vert!” Her personal family elf appears in front of her.

“Yes, Lady Bones?” He asks, only staring briefly in surprise at both the babies and Baron Black. She hands Susie to him.

“Take Heir Bones to the Nursery. And have someone get my brother’s elves. They’re probably in shock and need care.” Vert nods and pops out. Amelia turns back to Sirius. “Now, sit.” It isn’t a question. After setting up a speech-recording quill and parchment, she administers the Veritaserum.

She takes a moment to drop her head into her arms, her head thumping gently onto her desk, once he’s left to deliver young Heir Longbottom to his grandfather. It’s almost too much to process. Then she straightens back up, fixes her softly-waved black hair with a wave of her wand, and puts a glamour over her reddened eyes after a quick glance in the mirror. She delivers the paperwork certifying that Baron Sirius Nguyên Black of the Brecon Beacons Barony in Wales attested, under truth serum, that Peter Pettigrew was the Poddars’ Secret Keeper and betrayed them, along with the memory vial showing Sirius’s view of James Poddar’s last words to him.

Auror Moody, as the most senior Auror still alive and competent, is inventorying case evidence. Amelia has no doubt that he’ll be named Head Auror if he doesn’t decide to retire, which he has every right to. After going through the usual routine of testing each other’s identity, she hands him the vial, which he promptly locks in a warded case precisely for that purpose. As she hands him the paperwork, his shaggy eyebrows raise, and his new, magical, false eye spins around in its socket.

“I didn’t think that young lad could’ve betrayed the Poddars like that. But why didn’t they gar to t’ Headmaster? He could’ve helped. It’s gurt strange, ‘tis,” he says in his thick Cumbrian accent. Amelia shrugs, exhausted.

“I couldn’t begin to answer that question, Auror Moody. If I am being honest, I’d rather not. As of now, all I can think of is how relieved I am that their plans meant I still have my heir and the other two children are alive as well.” Moody peers at her, and his good eyes softens

“Aye, you do look a fair bit peaked.” She doesn’t immediately move, and he waves a hand at her. “Gar on, git yam Bones. ‘Tis quieter now. Just come in on time tomorrow, aye?” She nods slowly and stops by her office to get her things and lock up before Apparating home.

After finally finding herself home after far too long a day at the office, Amelia Judith Bones, Countess of Lundy and the Hidden Devon Isles finally lets herself cry as the weight and worry she’s been bearing since October 31 finally crashes down.

 

_10 November 1981, Fortescue Family Home—London Wall Street, London, England_

Florian Alwin Fortescue reluctantly makes his way to his front door to stop that infernal, repetitive knocking! He hadn’t gotten Neville to bed until one and had got little sleep himself. But his irritation flies away when he opens his door to his daughter’s mother-in-law, the Dowager Countess Longbottom. Though he’s seen her from a distance at social events and Wizengamot meetings, he has never actually met her. He hadn’t gone to Hogwarts either, instead going to one of the unacknowledged by the Ministry English schools. When she taps her cane imperiously, her outrageous vulture hat shedding a feather or two, he coughs, flushing, realizing he’s been standing there staring at her. Florian recovers his manners and bows respectfully.

“Good day, my lady. Would you like to come in and take tea?” She nods regally, and just about bowls him over sweeping in. She is followed by an apologetic house elf and a slightly embarrassed young retainer. Florian just sighs and shuts the door behind him. He pops into the kitchen to fix up a morning tea, and carries it into his parlor, not all surprised to see that the Dowager Countess has already claimed his best chair. He’s barely set the tray down before she says,

“Mr. Fortescue. You will return my grandson to me to raise. He is my heir, after all.” It isn’t a request. Florian barely notices the retainer and house elf both wincing as he glares at her.

“Lady Longbottom. My grandson he is as well, and I the legal right to raise him. You do not.” She snorts disdainfully.

“You delude yourself if you believe the Wizengamot will favor your claim over mine.” Florian doesn’t back down, looking her straight in the eye.

“Oh, quite aware am I of your sway in the Magical Parliament, Countess Longbottom. But I can call upon Baron Black and Countess Bones to defend my claim.” The Dowager Countess loses some of her smugness, her lips thinning. Florian leans back slightly. “Countess, I have no wish to prevent you from seeing our grandson. However, if you attempt force my hand into giving you custody, I will ensure you see him only when it is unavoidable.” She stares at him, temporarily speechless, but he can see the glimmerings of respect beginning in her eyes. Brushing nonexistent wrinkles out of her skirts, she nods her head at him, saying,

“I doubt that I will ever appreciate your company, Mr. Fortescue, but I do appreciate your ruthlessness. I see quite clearly your influence on my daughter-in-law now.” Florian can’t help the twinge his heart makes when she mentions Alice. He hates that his once-brilliant and effusive daughter is now reduced to a ghost of herself. Luckily, Countess Longbottom doesn’t seem to notice anything, continuing to speak. “I will concede your right to raise Neville, but I insist that he have one day a weekend with me and two mornings during the week, so I may begin teaching him what he will need to know as Earl Longbottom.” Florian nods slowly.

“That seems reasonable, Countess Longbottom, though I will be in charge of his education otherwise.” The Dowager Countess looks like she is going to say something, but Florian continues before she can. “He will attend Hogwarts at eleven, of course. And I will ensure he associates with other noble children. I am sure Countess Bones and Baron Black will aid me in that respect, and of course, they are taking care of children as well.” Countess Longbottom nods, her stony face clearly indicating how frustrated she is that Florian has out-thought her. He chances one more demand.

“But I will insist on something in turn. Neville will not be allowed near Dumbledore until he enters Hogwarts, and I would prefer Dumbledore keep his distance then as well.” Now the Dowager Countess is practically spitting fire, so infuriated is she. Florian has time for a hope that she won’t set his favorite chair on fire before she directs her fury at him.

“How dare you insult Headmaster Dumbledore. He is Chief Warlock, Supreme Mugwump of the ICW and Headmaster of Hogwarts! He is one of the most influential and powerful wizards of our time! He was the only one that Voldemort feared!” Florian resists the urge to roll his eyes, instead saying in a calm and measured tone,

“That is exactly why I don’t trust him. No one needs that much power and responsibility, especially someone in charge of educating the next generation. And you forget, Countess, that I did not go to Hogwarts. I have never worshipped the man, unlike you and many of your colleagues. And as for Voldemort fearing him, if that was the case, then why did Dumbledore never confront him face-to-face?” Florian is slightly concerned for a moment, as the Dowager Countess’s face has become unhealthily red, but her retainer seems unconcerned, so he decides to not be too worried. Reassuringly, she deflates soon after, blowing out a long breath. A long, tense silence falls between them, one Florian is not willing to break. Finally, she stops gazing into the distance and meets his eyes again.

“I suppose you have fair points, Mr. Fortescue, though I maintain that you have no need to be concerned. Dumbledore is the bastion of the Light. I will abide by your conditions.” Florian doesn’t dare let out a breath of relief.

As the Dowager Countess finishes her tea, Neville wakes up, his morning babbles coming clearly through the open door of Florian’s bedroom. The Dowager Countess’s face softens, and she says,

“I would like to see Neville before I go. I had only seen him a few times before…” she trails off, her eyes suspiciously bright. As to not embarrass her, Florian goes to get his grandson without a word. When he walks through the door, Neville brightens from where he’s hanging onto the railing of his crib.

“Papa!” Florian can’t help the wide smile spreading across his face. To be honest, he doesn’t want to.

“ _Guten Tag, mein kleiner_. Do you want Papa to carry you?” Neville nods frantically, and Florian chuckles as he picks him up. When they enter the parlor again, Neville blinks at Augusta in surprise.

“Gran?” he asks cautiously. The Dowager Countess nods, her eyes still bright. The emotion reassures Florian that she loves her grandson despite her overbearing demeanor, so he smiles, and says,

“ _Ja. das ist deine großmutter, kind._ ” Neville smiles, and holds his arms out to her. She blinks, then takes him into her arms, even smiling when he tugs curiously on her long, reddish-blonde hair. Neville is still tired, however, and soon falls asleep on her shoulder. Quietly, over his soft snores, her face a little less stern, the Dowager Countess asks,

“You speak German to him, then?” Florian nods, a little surprised at the question. “Of course. Both sides of his family have Prussian heritage. He should be in touch with his background.”

Her smile returns. “Good. Old English is one thing, but I never could get a handle on German myself, and as Harfang is gone and Algie never was that interested…I am glad you can teach him that.”

 

_1 December 1981, Godric’s Hollow —West County, England_

Sirius blinks quickly against the sharp winter wind as he finishes greeting the last arrivals to the funeral. There are too many people missing, too many empty spaces, not least of whom are the two people whose funeral he’s organized. His eyes sting in a way that can’t be explained away by the cold. He jumps, pulling his wand out as he feels a tap on his shoulder. He turns to see Remus with his hands up, wearing an apologetic look. Sirius gives him a sheepish look that doesn’t meet his eyes. He means it, he just can’t hide the amount of grief he’s feeling. Remus’s expression becomes sympathetic, and he pulls Sirius into a rough hug.

“I’m so sorry, Padfoot,” he whispers into Sirius’s ear. Sirius chokes back a sob, and Remus pats him on the back before releasing him.

“How are you holding up?” he asks quietly. Sirius laughs bitterly.

“Bad. ‘Dromeda, and Ted have been wonderful, and the kids all help me keep going. But that traitor is still in the wind, and Dumbledore invited himself to the funeral.” Remus groans quietly. He has the most respect for Dumbledore out of all of the Marauders, but even he doesn’t trust the old coot as far as he can throw him. Sirius grimaces and shrugs. “I can’t throw him out, and I doubt Lily-Fire and Prongs would want me to cause a scene.” Remus sighs.

“I suppose I’ll hope for the best, then. Niki’s safe?” Sirius nods, his heart aching with missing his goddaughter.

“ _Aaji_ sent me an owl. They’re helping her settle in.”

“Good.”

Dumbledore does try to take over the funeral, much to Sirius’s fury and the irritation of the Hindu priest performing the ceremony. Between the two of them, they manage to get Dumbledore to shut up, tarnishing his reputation to a few more people in the process. Sirius doesn’t miss how Bones—Amelia—has a thoughtful look on her face, and that both Florian and Lady Augusta look mutually offended. He’s a bit curious about how close the two of them are standing, and then quickly shakes his head mentally. That is not something he wants to think about too hard.

Despite the fact that the funeral didn’t turn into a mess, it’s still exhausting. Which isn’t surprising. But he’s still very glad that Myr, the elf that acts as a nanny for his children, and Reg agreed to take care of Lorelei and Hanne tonight, because all he can do when he finally returns home is fall into bed, thankfully into a dreamless sleep.

 

_5 December 1981, Black Manor—Brecon Beacons, Wales_

Severus Snape still has trouble believing the reality of his current situation. He may have patched up his relationship with Lily before her death, and Poddar and Black had apologized years ago. That didn’t mean he really liked any of them, and he doubted that he’d ever feel comfortable with Lupin. He tolerates Black for Reg’s sake, and he’d tolerated Poddar for Lily’s. But he’d always thought they trusted him as little as he trusted them—he knew McKinnon hadn’t trusted him at all—and he’d thought he would have to throw himself on Dumbledore’s unpredictable mercy to avoid being arrested.

Instead, he’s living in the family seat of the Blacks, and not only is Black making overtures to the Princes, his mother’s family for him, but he is also helping Reg search for a way to rid of the Inner Circle Thrall marks in the Black family library.

One morning, he wakes before his lover and is looking out the window at the snowy mountains. He doesn’t know how long he’s standing there, but any warmth from the bed has long seeped away, and he’s shivering from the cold stone under his feet and arms when Reg wraps his arms around him from behind. Severus tenses, but leans back into the embrace once he realizes who it is.

“What conundrum has you so lost in thought that you are chilled, _mon cher_?” Severus can’t help sighing at the still-raw sound of Reg’s voice. His lover and best friend besides Lily had not been reckless enough to insist upon destroying the Dark Lord’s soul jar by himself, but he had still forced Severus to leave when he was weak and the Inferi were surrounding them. Kreacher had returned almost too late, and Reg would bear the scars for the rest of his life, and the potion he’d drank could still destroy his voice completely. But Severus didn’t harp on it. The two of them had already had this fight.

“Reg, can you believe everything’s so sorted like this? I still wake up thinking it’s a dream, and I tell myself don’t be a ‘daft apeth’—” he cuts himself off, face hot. “—Sorry, ‘don’t be a fool’, but sometimes all that helps remind me it’s not all a dream is remembering that Lily’s dead.” His throat gets tight at the end of his sentence, and Severus drops silent.

Reg moves his hair off to the side and kisses the back of Severus’s neck gently. His next words are right by Severus’s ear, and he shivers, for a completely different reason this time.

“Oh, Sev, how many times do I have to tell you not to apologize for how you speak? One doesn’t require ‘posh’ language to be competent. Besides, I love your voice, you know that.” Severus shrugs, but doesn’t argue with Regulus. The compliments warm his heart and make him feel just a bit more confident. Anymore, it’s starting to remind him less of his father and unpleasant childhood, but instead Lily, his mother’s few good moments, and the friends and neighbors who actually liked him. He raises his gaze from a distracted stare at the stone sill when he realizes Reg is speaking again.

“ _Mais, ie sais. J’ai pensé beaucoup de temps que nous mourrions avant la fin de la guerre. De plus—_ ” Severus chuckles, his gloom chased away.

“Reg, you know I caught about two of those words, right? How much sleep did you get?” Reg coughs.

“I was merely agreeing with you on the matter of disbelieving our circumstances sometimes. On that note, why don’t we find if the elves have begun breakfast yet?” Severus smiles, the action still feeling foreign, but less so because Reg is behind it. He turns, his nightgown fluttering slightly, and stretches up to brush a kiss against Reg’s mouth. When his lover tries to deepen the kiss, Severus pulls away. Ducking into the closet to pull out a dressing gown the house elves found for him, he sobers again as he pulls it on.

“You know it’s not all over. Nah, we still have to find the other soul jars, and there’s still that rubbish prophecy. It’s bad enough we think it refers to Niketa—we know Dumbledore thinks so too. The Bones and Longbottom heirs are safe, as is Hanne. Niketa should be fine for now, but in ten years?” Regulus grasps both his hands, which are frantically twisting the fabric of his dressing gown, belying his flat tone, and says firmly,

“Severus. We’ve made all the preparations and precautions we feasibly could. Now all we can do is teach our next generation how to take care of themselves, and not make our ignominious mistakes.” Severus quirks a wry, humorless smile.

“Teach them not to be dunderheads, you mean?”

“I suppose.”

“I want that to be enough.”

“We can only hope.”

 

_2 January 1982, Hogwarts School of Magic—somewhere in the Scottish Highlands_

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, and Supreme Mugwump of the ICW sits at his desk, his shaggy white brows furrowed over his deep blue eyes, and a frown on his face. He knows he’s missing something. Lily and James had followed his advice despite their clearly increasing distrust of him, as had their friends, and yet somehow, Niketa Poddar is no longer in Britain, Sirius has already cleared his name, as have Severus and Regulus, and Neville Longbottom is not in Augusta’s custody. Not to mention, all the Poddar possessions he’d had are already recalled, either by Gringotts or the Indian bank.

Albus Dumbledore has the sinking feeling he’s been outwitted, and he is not fond of that feeling. He sighs and adjusts his half-moon golden-framed spectacles. He can’t do much about it now, but he needs to make sure Niketa Poddar is prepared to defeat Voldemort when the time comes. She’ll be in Hogwarts, of course, he reminds himself. His eyes sharpen, and he taps his fingers on the desk before calling for Minerva. Since the Christmas break is still on for a few more days, she is in the Deputy Head’s office for a change, and immediately pops her head in.

“Ye called, Headmaster?” She asks, only a hint of her native Highland accent coming through. He smiles at her.

“Minerva, would you mind getting the student roll and seeing who is on the list for 1991?” She frowns, but nods, and comes back with the large tome listing all students past and the ones living for the future. She flips to 1991 and runs her finger down it before nodding and looking up.

“Most of the students are English, Scottish, Welsh, or Irish. There are a few who have other schools listed as well, an o’ course, some may be homeschooled. But our foreign possible students for that year are: Miss Leanne Gilly from the States, Lady Padma Patil and Lady Parvati Patil from the Maratha Empire, First Minister Niketa Poddar from the Maratha Empire, Heir Zabini from Sabina, Su He from the Li clan in one of the Chinese states, Prince Burak of the Ottomans, his sister Princess Dilşad, Miss Kahina Abdul-Hamid Barak from the Sultanate of Darfur, and…” she says about four more names, but Albus is no longer listening.

“Thank you, Minerva. Of course, we will encourage them all, as we do every prospective student, to attend Hogwarts, but I believe we must encourage Miss Poddar especially.” She gives him a rather pointed glare.

“Headmaster, ye knaw better! She hae a duty tuh her lairdskip an ‘er vassals. An th’ ane raison th’ Patils mey come is acause o how thair faimily hae a tradeetion o’ been ambassadors tuh Breetain!” Her southern Highland accent is out in full force, and Albus finds himself leaning slightly away from her fury. He coughs to interrupt her and says,

“Yeh’re right o’ course, Minerva. My apologies.” She snorts disbelievingly but leaves a few moments later. When Albus is alone once again, he sighs, and stares out the window.

Clearly, he has to find some way to get Niketa to Hogwarts, even if he can’t touch her now. She is the key to defeating Tom for good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t hate Augusta Longbottom, but she clearly in canon was overbearing to Neville and didn’t do anything about Algie abusing her grandson. I doubt she’s that respectful of people she doesn’t consider equals, and people likely rarely say no to her. 
> 
> The way nobility works in my universe is that the Crown does actually acknowledge many magical noble claims—not all of them—so there is actual aristocracy, though many of the magical families don’t consider the current family as legitimate unless they can sense that the land accepts them as rulers, which not all of them can. Most magical nobles have territories in “sparsely populated” areas, though they may have authority over magical families nearby. 
> 
> In this universe, it is rude to call anyone by their first name unless given permission. 
> 
> Florian is a Prussian immigrant to Magical Britain; he and his parents immigrated before he turned eleven. Augusta married into the Longbottoms, who are of heavily Germanic ancestry, but she is English. 
> 
> Please let me know if my accents/character voices/dialects could be made better or more understandable. It’s perfectly okay if you don’t like my way of voicing the characters, but please, if you don’t have any legitimate advice, just keep your mouth shut.


	4. The Laughter of the Children Playing in the Tall Grass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Petunia, Mrs. Evans, and Mr. Evans learn of Lily and James' death. Rather late. Rani gets older, and finds her place in her new home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from The House Where I Was Born (01), by Yves Bonnefoy, translated by John T. Naughton

_31 July 1982, Śānta Nivāsa Fort—Northern Konkan, in modern Maharashtra_

_Peshwin_ Dorea Amarante Poddar, wife of the late _Peshwa_ Charlus Ajay Poddar collapses on a long, padded seat while she lets her daughter-in-law’s sister corral the children. Though over the years she has adapted to the heat and humidity of the Maratha Empire, there are times when it is still a little too much for her. Those times especially being running after a hyper two-year-old and her cousins. Dorea breathes a sigh of relief as the cooling charms kick in and leans her head back in a distinctly non-regal manner, careful not to disturb her elaborate hairdo or the end of her _saree_ protecting it.

She calls for one of the servants to bring her a glass of _lassi_. The cool drink concludes the process of cooling down, and she can finally think straight when she does.

As she moves over to the dais overlooking where Rani and her cousins are playing, Dorea remembers something. It’s been more than five months since her grandson and his wife died, and she doesn’t think anyone has remembered to notify Lily’s family. It’s understandable; from what her grand-nephew Nguyên has told her, Britain is still a mess. Those who survived are still picking up the pieces—they don’t have time for anything else.

And Dorea remembers Grindelwald’s war; she knows how much destruction war can do. But still, it doesn’t sit right with her that no one has told her granddaughter-in-law’s family that their daughter and sister are dead.

She nods decisively before she goes to her rooms and her desk. Pulling out two pieces of parchment, ink, and a quill, Dorea begins to write.

_Good sir and madam,_

_I do not believe we have had the pleasure of conversing before this correspondence. It is with regret that I must begin on this tragic note. I wish to inform you that your daughter and her husband died while defeating the Dark Lord who plagued Magical Britain since the 1960s. My grandson’s brother, Baron Black, officiated over their funeral. I am quite sure that he will welcome any correspondence from you. If you do wish to contact him, letters should be addressed to Baron Black, The Black Seat, Brecon Beacons, Wales. Your granddaughter,_ Peshwa _Niketa Rani Lily Poddar lives now with myself and her great-aunt in the Poddar family palace in the Maratha Empire. I believe you would call it the state of Maharashtra, at least when describing where you may find us. She is quite healthy and happy except for missing her parents and their friends, and a few nightmares. However, as I write this, it is her birthday, and she is racing happily around with her cousins. I would welcome correspondence and visits from you both. I have no desire to keep your granddaughter from you._

Peshwin _Dorea Amarante Poddar_

 _Born Lady Black, Wife of the 11th_ Peshwa _of the Maratha Empire._

Śānta Nivāsa _Fort, Konkan,_

_The Maratha Confederacy_

Dorea folds the letter, adding her personal seal to it before setting it aside to write the next one. She remembers Lily being adamant that there was bad blood between the two sisters, partially because of the man that Petunia was courting, but nonetheless, Dorea thinks Petunia should know. She may have hated Pollux, and she had complicated feelings about Cassiopeia, but she still would have wanted to hear news of their death. She blots her quill before beginning her letter to Petunia.

 

_12 August 1982, The Evans’ Home—Manchester, Greater Manchester_

Petunia Evans blinks at the owl that just flew in her parents’ open kitchen window, ignoring the blustering of her boyfriend, Vernon Dursley. Vernon has been getting tiresome lately, insisting she give up on university, which Petunia flatly refuses to do. She might not marry a toff like Lily, or have magic, but she is not throwing away the unprecedented chance to get higher education. Mam and Dad might have done well for themselves, but neither of them got the chance to go to university. Vernon’s voice rises, his face getting red, as he realizes she isn’t sparing him any attention.

Petunia shares a look with her parents before turning back to Vernon

“Oh, stop throwin’ a strop, Vernon! I can’t be mithered with your need for attention right now!” she snaps, worried about what that owl could mean. They haven’t heard from Lily in almost a year. Vernon gapes at her, his face getting impossibly redder. When neither of her parents reprimand Petunia for her words, Vernon snaps his mouth closed, and stomps out of the refurbished cotton mill that the Evans had bought after Petunia got accepted to uni.

There is a short silence until he slams the door, then Dad speaks up.

“Good riddance, Tuney. That arse wasn’t worth your time, I’ve told you more than once.”

“Dad!” Petunia says in horror. But Mam’s nodding, so she subsides, returning her attention to the owl. It doesn’t look like anything except the one Lily’s husband has, giant and white, with bright eyes. But she can tell it’s not the same bird. To be honest, it looks a little tired, with ruffled feathers, and a quickly rising chest. Cautiously, she steps forward to take the letter, which turns out to be two, before filling a bowl with water from the tap and placing it before the owl.

Absently, she tosses Mam and Dad the one addressed to them, focused on her own. There’s an unfamiliar seal—not that she knows many, to be honest—on the letter, and she makes a note of it before breaking it open.

_Miss Evans,_

_I am deeply regretful this letter must come from a relative stranger. I realise siblings do not always get along, and Lily was quite vocal about the fights between you two. I had the same difficulty getting along with my siblings as well. However, I would still have wished to know what became of them. To that aim, I penned this letter to you. It is my unfortunate duty to inform you that your sister and her husband perished fighting the Dark Lord on the 31st of October 1981. It may lessen your grief to know that they defeated Voldemort in doing so. I am deeply sorry that my grand-nephew, Baron Black, whom you may know as Sirius or Padfoot, neglected to invite you to the funeral. To be fair to him, he was barely coping with being made the guardian of two small children after the death of his partner and dealing with the deaths of Lily and James as well likely made it difficult for him to think straight. I am certain that, if you contact him, he will show you their graves. On a more positive note, your niece, Niketa Rani Lily Poddar survived the events of the thirty-first. Lily and James named myself and her great-aunt her guardians, as they wished her to grow up as far away from Albus Dumbledore as possible. I do not wish to keep her from either you or her parents, so, as I have already said to them, please feel free to contact me if you would like to arrange visits._

Peshwin _Dorea Amarante Poddar_

 _Born Lady Black, Wife of the 11th_ Peshwa _of the Maratha Empire._

Śānta Nivāsa _Fort, Konkan,_

_The Maratha Confederacy_

Petunia throws down the parchment with a choked gasp, hardly believing the words she just read. When she dares look up at Mam and Dad, their faces are twisted in the same disbelieving grimace that she feels on her own face.

“Who, who’s this woman? Why is she writin’ instead of Black, Lupin, McKinnon, Pettigrew, Longbottom, or any of their other friends?” She demands of the air in a shaky voice. Mam clears her throat, cool blue eyes shiny.

“I think she’s James’ great-grandmother. Didn’t know she was Sirius’ great-aunt, though.” Petunia pulls out a chair, dropping heavily into it.

“Why’d they make ‘er guardian? She ‘as to be over ninety. You two aren’t even fifty yet. And what about me, then?” Mam rubs her eyes.

“You know James was posh, right? Like noble posh?”

“Yeah, and?” Mam sighs.

“Tuney, Niketa’s likely his heir. I bet, ‘sides whatever’s goin’ on with Dumbledore, they thought she needed to learn how tae be a proper heir. And, Lily never did like Vernon much.” Petunia shrugs, her face growing hot.

“Nah, Mam, you’re right. I shoulda realised that.” She pauses, picking at her nails. “What’re we gonna do now? Should we contact Black, or her, or both? I know we can’t trust Dumbledore, but there have to be other people we can talk to.” Dad nods.

“Yeah, I want to be part of my granddaughter’s life too. We can let that bird rest, and we’ll send back a letter to this Lady Dorea. And…” he coughs. “You and Heather can go off to Diagon. You two were always better at blendin’ with all o’ them. We need one of those owls ourselves.”

The Evans family has no idea how much these events will change their lives forever. Even a slightly different action or decision could have pushed them in a different direction, and none of them would have gotten to know their granddaughter and niece. But they do, and so this is a different story.

 

_17 February 1984, Raigad, the capital of the Maratha Confederacy—Konkan Division_

Niketa Rani Lily Poddar, called Rani by her family, shares an excited grin with her best friend and cousin Adi.

The other four-year-old grins back before sobering and facing forward as her mother, and Rani’s _aatyaa_ , _Sardar_ Kalyani Patil, nudges them gently. Rani takes a deep breath and smooths down her _saree_. It’s quite elegant and fancy, particularly for a four-year-old, and Rani is worried about ruining it. It doesn’t matter that she—or rather, _Aaji_ Dorea—can easily afford a new one.

What Rani is truly worried about is about being presented to the _Chhatrapati_. For Adi and Jaya, her cousins, it is merely a matter of presenting them to the court, so they can begin making connections. Even though _Maamaa_ Chandra is the _Sumant_ , or foreign minister, there isn’t as much pressure. However, Rani is the _Peshwa_ , or Prime Minister of the Empire. When she reaches her majority, she will have more political power than anyone else in the empire. Though the _Chhatrapati_ has mostly ceremonial power, he can still dismiss the _Peshwa_ and choose a new family to hold the position. The Poddar family has held the position of _Peshwa_ for centuries, and Rani is terrified of being the one to end that tradition.

As if noticing her nerves, just before they enter the throne room, _Aatyaa_ Kalyani bends down to whisper in her ear.

“ _Mājhī chōṭī_ Rāṇī, you have absorbed our lessons, yes?” Rani nods, smiling slightly up at her great-aunt. Kalyani smiles back. “Then I must wonder why you are concerned, particularly since your _Maamaa_ , your _Aaji_ , and myself, will all be there.” Rani relaxes her shoulders and squeezes her great-aunt’s hand before walking slowly and confidently into the throne room.

She makes the appropriate obeisances that have been drilled into her for as long as she can remember, then stands politely with her gaze down as _Aaji_ Dorea introduces her.

“ _Chhatrapati_ Rajaram Bhosale, tenth of the Empire, may I have pleasure of presenting my great-granddaughter, the _Peshwa_ -apparent, Niketa Rani Lily Poddar.” He motions toward Rani, and she steps forward, looking up to meet his face.

The monarch of the entire Maratha Confederacy is not much older than _Maamaa_ Chandra’s nephew Anand. He has a friendly twinkle in his eyes, though the rest of his face is properly serious. Internally, Rani relaxes a little bit more.

“ _Mankari_ Niketa Poddar. Have you, and will you continue to be taught the duties of your position, as well as how to conduct yourself in a manner befitting a high-ranking noble in my court?” Rani nods as regally as she can, saying,

“My _Chhatrapati_ , I have, and I will. I understand the importance and tradition behind our customs, and I will endeavour to further my understanding as I age.” _Chhatrapati_ Rajaram blinks slightly, and Rani can tell her wording surprises him. She holds her breath as he stands, and lets it out silently as he announces for the entire court,

“My subjects and advisors, recognize and accept _Mankari_ Niketa Poddar as the twelfth _Peshwa_ , the first of my advisors.” There is a wave of acknowledgement throughout the elaborately decorated room, and then Rani is swept off with _Aaji_ Dorea for a private audience with the _Chhatrapati_.

Once the three of them are alone, both _Aaji_ and the _Chhatrapati_ check and recast the security spells on the room before he collapses with a groan into a soft seat. Rani stares at him until he encourages her to do the same, which she does, cautiously. He leans forward and smiles at her, his dark eyes bright.

“What does your family call you, my new _Peshwa_?” She blinks at him, and _Aaji_ Dorea laughs, though not unkindly.

“Raja. She’s only four, and she has only just met you. You, on the other hand, grew up calling Charlus and I, _Aajobaa_ and _Aaji_.” Rani turns her startled gaze on her great-grandmother before the monarch speaks again, drawing her attention back to him. He’s still smiling as he says,

“Our families have long been close. We are better able to maintain the stability of the empire in that manner.” Rani nods slowly.

“My family calls me Rani,” she says quietly. He is startled into a laugh, and winks at her.

“When you are comfortable, you may call me Raja. Until then, you may call me Bhosale.” Rani laughs too, seeing the humor in their nicknames. She ventures a quiet question.

“Ch-Bhosale, only in private, yes?” He frowns.

“No. As long as we are not in the throne room, you may call me what you like.” He looks up at _Aaji_ Dorea. “ _Aaji_ , did you not tell her this? Does she not know of the freedoms afforded to her?”

Rani sits up and hugs her knees, suddenly nervous. She looks over at her great-grandmother as the older woman sighs, sitting down as well.

“Raja, you are cognizant of how Rani came to be under my guardianship, yes?”

The mood in the room abruptly dips, and the _Chhatrapati_ ’s gaze snaps over to Rani, who hides her face in her knees as her fingers give off green sparks.

“Yes, I am aware,” he says, thankfully not elaborating. _Aaji_ clears her throat before continuing to speak.

“We did not merely intend to prevent spoiling her. Rani prefers routine and rules, though too much pressure causes her undue stress. Seeing as she is only four, and has seen enough upheaval already, we elected not to confuse her by detailing all of her privileges.”

The _Chhatrapati_ makes a sound of agreement, then Rani hears him move. She looks up when she feels a gentle touch on her arm. Expecting her great-grandmother, she makes a startled _meep_ when she is instead faced with the monarch of the entire confederacy on his knees before her. His face is furrowed in an apologetic grimace.

“It was not my intent to overwhelm or confuse you, Rani. Would you be more assured if I visited your home in order to gain your friendship?” Rani peeks her head up at her great-grandmother, who nods slightly. She attempts a smile—the effort is shaky, but sincere.

“I would like that, Bhosale.” He smiles at her, the action lighting up his face, and her own smile widens.

The rest of their private meeting is taken up with discussions between the Chhatr-Bhosale and _Aaji_ Dorea about the matters and duties requiring the attention of the _Peshwa_. Rani tries to follow everything, she really does, but she is still only four-years-old, and she can only understand so much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, any native or fluent Marathi speakers, feel free to correct my Marathi. I am using all the resources I can find, but I am still not really a Marathi speaker. 
> 
> If anyone wants to correct my Mancunian accent too, that is perfectly fine. Although, I’m letting a little bit of a Scottish accent filter into Mrs. Evans’ voice, because I headcanon her as Scottish, or at least with Scottish parents. 
> 
> I am slightly fudging some details of the Maratha empire. I know the Bhats were the actual major Peshwa family, and Raigad was not the last capital of the confederacy, but this is fiction, so…


End file.
